


Chasing Ghosts

by cheekyuta



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Back Together, M/M, Post-Break Up, Saxophonist!Jaemin, lawstudent!renjun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22587766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheekyuta/pseuds/cheekyuta
Summary: Jeno sees him in everything, long after they've broken up.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 58





	Chasing Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in 24 hours because i was sad. completely unbeta'd. i'll probably edit this when i'm no longer busy. the song i was listening to while writing this (and the one i'm alluding to in the story) is Kenny G's Forever Love but you could just imagine something else that fits for you. enjoy!

Jeno decides, as soon as his eyes blink open, that it’s another dreary day. His gaze lands at the peeling bits of paint on the ceiling, and the dirty white color reinforces his first thought. There’s a spot in there, where the paint had fully peeled off, that looks suspiciously like a pair of eyes. It unnerves him.

He turns to his left and runs his hands through the space beside him. It’s cold, the way it's always been for the last two years. There’s a clock on the far wall that catches what little light passes through his curtains whose hands, illuminated by the orange glow of daybreak, read 5 am. It’s earlier than the alarm he had set but sleep had long escaped him. With a sigh, he turns to lie on his back, his black orbs trained on the ceiling. The spot is still there, looming over him like inquisitive eyes, searching. Or accusing, he is not sure. So he blocks his own pair with his arm, afraid that somehow, those eyes would be able to read him. 

It’s stupid, Jeno knows, how he thinks those paintless bit of space are the eyes of his ghosts, reminding him of whispered longings and regrets that lingered in the silence. But he’s scared. Scared that if he looks closely, those eyes would morph into something else. Something that belonged to the same person whose eyes he sees when his are closed. _Something familiar._

Like a hand that stroked his face in the morning or kisses that left him breathless and wanting. Maybe even touches that burned him, the kind that made him feel alive. Jeno wouldn’t be surprised if everything else would make him see traces of _him,_ leaving invisible shadows of a past that plagues his memories. 

Still, the apprehension wouldn’t go away. He’s afraid that those eyes could glimpse the loneliness fleeting through the gaping hole in his heart and see all the parts of him that looked undeniably broken. He’s scared that if he stares long enough, he’ll see familiar brown eyes that flashed with love, affection, and _pain._ Maybe, he’d see regret and emptiness staring back at him.

It doesn’t matter though. Because the pain has already slipped between his ribs and taken ahold of his heart. It howls with every fall of his chest and chokes him up with every sharp inhale. It resonates in the crypt of his ribs just like how the words he told _him_ continue to resonate in his head.

_“I can’t love you, Jaemin. Not anymore.”_

Slowly, Jeno takes his arm off his eyes, sits up and puts his feet flat on the floor. The cold tiles are a welcome distraction to the numbness he's feeling and his steps to the door echo in the silence. His eyes shift briefly to the bathroom near the door and he almost chuckles at how the pang in his chest feels like clockwork. Familiar. Expected. 

The bathroom door is slightly open, the soft glow from inside reminding him that the light was left turned on last night. It’s a waste of electricity, he knows, but that was how Jaemin liked it before going to sleep. He pauses by the door and realizes it’s almost laughable how he used to try to convince himself that Jaemin no longer has any influence on his life. Just this habit, one of many he could never get rid of, speaks volumes on how the other’s presence seems to linger in his life. It's one that echoes of a past he could never return to, haunting him in ghosts that float around the corners of his eyes. He steps inside and for a second, Jeno thinks he’d see another thing that would remind him of the younger. 

Nothing does, because all Jaemin's left behind were the what-ifs plaguing Jeno's mind. 

_  
  
_

●

There’s something soothing about hearing someone play the saxophone. Granted that Jaemin’s only listening through his laptop, but it doesn’t make any difference anyway. He hums along and imagines himself playing his own, fingers itching to press on familiar keys. The music trickles in his ears and worms its way to his head, beckoning him to unwind and take a breather. He closes his eyes and breathes in tune with the melody. But just as he'd settled into a state of calm, the song changes and Jaemin’s heart tightens at the sound of the familiar tune. 

The shadows in his head crawl up from wherever he buried them. He feels them slowly climb up, their claws gripping on the nooks and crannies in the deepest pits of his mind, inching up slowly to where the light shines. And when Jaemin opens his eyes, he pretends he sees them carrying fragments of his past on their tiny, hunched up backs. 

It’s unsettling, he thinks, how one could easily recall things one spent a long time forgetting.

He inhales sharply with every ill-forgotten memory that floods his head, reminding him of days gone by and old lifetimes. It reminds him of dark nights spent dancing to this piece, of fingertips on skin and smiles that glowed brighter than the moon.

Jaemin remembers too-early days and too-late nights spent sprawled under the sheets, hands intertwined listening to the soft beats of a heart he thought he knew was _his_.

He remembers, with vividness untarnished by distance and time, the solace in Jeno’s lips and the universe in the roof of his mouth. How he tasted the world on his teeth and heaven on his tongue. He remembers staring into Jeno’s eyes, orbs like blackholes sucking him in and leaving him dry, as it took away every secret, every pain, and every ounce of love he could give.

He remembers everything. From the crescent eyes that sought his soul to the voice that delivered him to his greatest heartbreak. And he remembers, with a dull ache in his chest, how it feels to feel whole but broken, contented but dissatisfied, _loved but_ _unloved_. 

As the song plays on, Jaemin’s breath hitches in his throat until he could no longer stop himself from choking. He feels the dampness trailing down his cheeks and his heart throbbing against the cove of his chest.

He remembers how Jeno looked him in the eye, telling him he can’t love him anymore, _“Not when I’m like this, not when you don’t even love yourself,”_ he said. 

And before he could stop himself, Jaemin laughs, not in humor, because Jeno was right. In the first few months, the absence suffocated him, bearing down on him until he could no longer breathe. There were days when he longed for the love Jeno once gave him, finding disappointment after disappointment when all he felt was self-loathing crawling under his skin. 

For a long time, he never quite understood how Jeno could leave him. _If someone doesn’t love himself, shouldn’t you do it for him instead?_

Then the days came when he’d look at himself in the mirror and all he could see were his demons staring back at him. He’d see them in his eyes, on his shoulders, on patches of his skin taunting and leering at him, showing him how hopeless he really is. And on those days, he’d cry until his heart was numb, baffled by the overflowing love he has contained. _Why couldn’t he spare some for himself?_

But as much as the split broke him, he learned, through hard times and healing scars, that it gave him the time and freedom to grow. To learn new things alone. To explore and to find the peace he desperately searched for, the one he blindly sought after in other people’s comfort. But most of all, it gave him the time and freedom to finally glue back the shards of his heart that were broken long before he met Jeno. It's hard to unlearn old habits, but it was about time he loved and lived with himself.

But the time and freedom did nothing to erase the yearning he had for the other. He couldn't. And he'd long resolved that he wouldn't. Especially today, the same day two years ago when he walked out of Jeno’s life completely.

As the song approaches its end, he feels his heart relax and finds the ability to breathe again. But he feels worn-out, drained of everything he had. And as the last notes play with the end of the memory, he whispers a question that fades along with the melody, quiet and vulnerable and raw.

“Would you love me now that I love myself?”

_  
  
_

●●

_  
  
  
_

“Are you still going to the dinner party?”

Jaemin does not bother looking up at Renjun. Instead, he continues to sift through the various trinkets in the tiny box in his hands.

“Of course I am! What kind of friend would I be if I miss the exclusive, somewhat pretentious, monthly dinner of one of my most pretentious friends?” he exclaims. There’s an old, dangly earring in the box that he holds up his right ear for Renjun to see. “Do I look good with this earring or do I look good with this earring?”

He’s not surprised to find Renjun looking unimpressed, either at his sarcastic jab or the earring. When the older’s eyes shift to examine his right ear, he decides it was the former. 

“It suits you, but I rather like those earrings and I wouldn’t give them away,” his friend’s mouth curls into a teasing smirk. Jaemin huffs in disappointment before rummaging through a bigger box. “And I’m not pretentious. Unless you count pizza and ramen as fancy dinner,” Renjun adds.

They’re over at Renjun’s new apartment, the older having just moved out from the apartment complex he shared with Jaemin and a few other friends, choosing to live in an area that's closer to the university instead. It's only been a few months since they all started living in one complex, but Jaemin's sure it'd take a while for him to get used to not having his best friend a door away. Several cardboard boxes and scrunched-up tape litter the floor as they go through Renjun’s things, trying to figure out which stuff are important enough not to throw or give away. Jaemin, certain that some of his old things were accidentally shoved among Renjun's stuff, came over to help him sort through all of them. He’d already found a bunch of his things sitting along with the older’s, and he’s only gone through two boxes.

Placing the small case he’s been holding on the floor, he tears open another box and finds it full of thick, hardbound books with minimalist covers and boring looking names. “Okay, I take it back. you’re not pretentious, but your law books certainly are.” he chides, the corners of his mouth twitching into a grin.

“Let’s not insult the books, okay?” Renjun narrows his eyes. “Besides, who’s going to help you avoid jail time when you finally snap and kill Donghyuck?” the older cocks an eyebrow with the corner of his lip tugging to a smirk. The exaggerated bow Renjun gives warrants an eyeroll from Jaemin. “This pretentious friend with the help of those pretentious books of course!”

Warm laughter breaks out from Jaemin’s mouth and it doesn’t take long before Renjun's own follows. He wipes away a few tears from his eyes as their laughter dies down and smiles when he shares a look with the older. In that moment, he realizes that out of all his friends, Renjun was the one that changed the most, yet at the same time, changed the least. When he looks at Renjun now, he sees a young man brave enough to choose between two things he loves, but he also sees the twinkle in his eyes, the same one he’s always had, undimmed by the ideals he lost and dreams he had to let go of. Sometimes, he catches himself being jealous of how Renjun could seemingly live through everyday without dwelling on the what-if’s.

There’s a question burning the tip of his tongue, waiting to be brought out in the open, and it spills from his mouth before Jaemin could stop himself.

“Do you ever think of what your life would be now if you chose to pursue a singing career?”

The older seems taken aback when he looks at him, a sad smile crawling its way on his lips when their eyes meet. There’s a faraway look that glazes his eyes, and Jaemin knows that his friend is looking at something far beyond him. His own ghost, probably. 

“Sometimes,” Renjun murmurs, closing his eyes in a way that makes him look vulnerable. When he opens them, he gives Jaemin a small, albeit genuine smile. “But I also think of what _could_ happen after law school and I feel no regrets. I want to do this because I love it. Besides, giving up a career in music doesn’t mean giving up on singing itself, you know.”

Jaemin’s lips curl into a smile as they both turn back to search new boxes. He mulls over Renjun's words carefully, wrapping his mind around the meaning behind them. There’s a familiar ache that nests over his ribs, one that appears whenever he thinks about regrets. He ignores it, choosing to rummage through another box on his lap instead, this one full of paperwork and notes. He goes through each document carefully, fingers deftly parting the papers slightly so as not to leave them dog-eared. He stops however, when he sees a familiar piece of paper wedged somewhere in between. The ache he feels intensifies and his chest heaves as he pulls the paper out onto the light. In vain, he stops his fingers from trembling along with his heart. 

It’s a music sheet. One whose notes he knows more than the lines on his palms, whose melody is ingrained on his mind like paint smeared permanently on canvass and tattoos engraved on skin. There’s a phantom of a feeling beneath his fingers, of cool metal and pressing keys, and his mind is suddenly flooded with images of the past. He envisions himself playing his saxophone in a fancy bar with the lights dimmed all around him, and he sees black eyes looking at him with such intensity that it pierces through his soul, leaving him feeling naked. He sees a ghost of a smile and feet slowly moving through familiar songs, sees the moon glowing in a more vibrant hue and hands clasped together through the darkness of the night. He sees mementos of a life that was once his, a life so far away now from his reach. 

He sees them all, even as he’s staring at an inconspicuous piece of paper that bears so much meaning and holds innumerable memories. 

Jaemin swallows the bitter taste flooding his mouth and blurs out the scenes in his mind, trying in vain to relieve his heart and erase the longing on his fingertips. “I envy you sometimes, Junnie. I really do,” he admits, voice small and almost imperceptible.

There’s confusion written all over Renjun’s face as he spins around to look at his friend. But, when he sees the melancholic look on Jaemin’s face and the music sheet in his hand, he realizes what his friend meant. Despite being uncertain on what exactly is running through the other’s mind, he knows that it has something to do with Jaemin’s biggest what-if. Briefly, he wonders if his friend's what-if has the same regrets. 

With a sad smile, he sits beside Jaemin and places a comforting hand on his back, beckoning the younger to lean against his shoulder. Renjun weighs down his words, always one to be truthful, letting them pour from his mouth in hushed tones that cut through the thick silence.

“You’ve always been fond of chasing your ghosts, Jaem.”

●●●

It’s for the best. That is something Jeno constantly reassures himself with. They’ve been tearing apart at the seams long before they broke up. Even when they were both still so in love, he could see the tiny cracks turning into holes, ripping apart the threads that bound them together. 

Maybe it was the way they both held on to the love between them, thinking it was enough to fill them both. Or how they desperately tried to piece back the scattered parts of the other, forgetting that no one else can fix you better than yourself. Either way, on good days when he looks back fondly on the memories they had, he’s certain that their separation was for the best. 

However, on nights when the space beside him is coldest and the longing swallows him whole, he feels his grip loosen around that certainty. The loneliness embraces him. It squeezes him tightly until regret seeps through his skin and he’s drowning in self-pity. There’s an emptiness in his chest that suffocates him until he’s left reeling from the conspicuous space by his side, between his arms, under his chin and every inch of skin that tingles in yearning. 

Tonight, unfortunately, is one of those nights. The house is too quiet, too silent that he could hear his own emptiness. There’s a visceral urge to escape the loneliness so he heads out, keys and wallet in hand as he steps out into the twilight.

He walks around with no particular destination in mind as he’s too wrapped up in his thoughts to even bother. Faint light peeks from the clouds while the street lights flicker to life, just in time as the sun sets below the horizon. Briefly, he watches the sky change into two different colors at once. The streets are busy with the onslaught of people going out on the weekend and Jeno finds himself bumping shoulders with a handful of them. Deciding to find someplace less crowded, he turns left on an alleyway that leads to a quieter street.

There’s a scarcity of people in this street of which Jeno is thankful for. He walks slowly along the cobbled steps, taking his time to look around and observe the tiny shops and humble establishments. Now that his mind is less preoccupied with thoughts of the past, Jeno feels like taking his mind elsewhere. He walks further along the street, quietly taking notice of the vaguely familiar buildings along the sidewalk. He’s been here once, probably when he first moved in the nearby neighborhood. Recalling a quaint bookshop tucked away in the corner, Jeno decides to drop by.

The smell of paper and old books greets him when he opens the door. There's soft music playing, a piano rendition of a vaguely familiar R&B song, and Jeno smiles in return at the polite welcome he gets from the girl manning the counter. 

Jeno wanders around in search for any book that might pique his interest, his fingers darting from one book spine to another as he scans the titles of different paperbacks from the shelves in the rear of the store. He lets out a satisfied hum as he picks up the newest addition to his favorite series of mystery books. He turns it around and reads the synopsis at the back before opening the book to scan its pages.

There’s an urge to read the entire book right then and there so he closes the book before it completely overpowers him. No longer interested in finding another book, he turns around and sets off for the counter only to stop in his tracks as he finds himself looking at a face he’s long tried to forget.

Familiar eyes are staring at him. Only now, they’re pools of dark brown instead of spots in his ceiling. There’s shock in them mixed with a bunch of other emotions Jeno couldn’t read but he’s pretty sure they mirror the ones in his own. He tightens his hold around the book in his hand and gulps down the lump forming in his throat.

“Jaemin,” he breathes out.

He looks the same. Better even. Apart from the new shade of brown hair he’s never sported before, Jaemin looks virtually unchanged. Jeno is dumbstruck, robbed of words. What little progress he has of erasing all images of Jaemin from his mind is now flushing down the drain. He lets his eyes caress the contours of the younger’s face, cementing the shape of his eyes and the hills of his cheeks into his memory. Briefly, he wonders whether he’s seeing one of the ghosts he’s grown accustomed to but when the one standing before him with a distance he could easily, oh so easily, close opens his mouth, every doubt gets thrown out the window.

“Hey,” Jaemin says, taking a step forward. He doesn’t stop until he’s only an arm’s length away from Jeno. He's close, so close, but nowhere near close enough.

Jeno fights the urge to reach out and touch the younger. To be honest, he doesn't know what to do exactly. He's imagined this moment far too many times than he could count but all those countless scenarios of meeting Jaemin again could never have prepared him for this. 

They say nothing for a while, too shocked for words, until Jaemin's eyes darts to the book in his hand. "I see you still like mystery books."

"Yeah," Jeno nods. "It's been a while actually."

"Since you've read a mystery book?" Jaemin quips. "Quite surprising." He gives Jeno a small, unsure smile that freezes Jeno in place. 

"That… yeah," a beat passes, "and since I've seen you. It's been a while. "

Jaemin's stiffens for a split second before his lips quirk up in a smile again. It looks pained, and Jeno feels his skin crawling from the guilt seething underneath. Nervously, he rolls on the balls of his feet. There's a thousand things he wants to say to the younger but none of them slips past his tongue. He ends up staring at eyes that stared back at him. The same pools of brown that haunted him everywhere. 

In the background, the music changes. Jeno sees the recognition in Jaemin's eyes and he's suddenly bombarded with memories of slow dances and tender stares. His heart soars and leaps, yearning to go to whom it belongs. The familiarity of the melody envelops his senses and and trickles down to his heart he thought he lost along dirty white ceilings and cold spaces. 

He stares at the orbs he used to drown in. In that moment, he realizes he no longer needs to drown in his what-ifs. He loved Jaemin. Loves him still. He never stopped.

And he no longer plans on stopping. 

"Do you, maybe, want to get some coffee together? Catch up a little?" He asks. Silently. Hopefully. 

Jaemin doesn't answer immediately. Jeno counts the seconds in between. Counts the beats of the saxophone. Counts the times Jaemin blinks. Counts the flutter of his own heart.

"I'd like that."

Jaemin beams and all of Jeno's ghosts disappear. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
